Red
by lila.roxo
Summary: Indirect sequel to Hourglass


Summary: An indirect continuation to Hourglass, this follows the new relationship of a sire and his fledgling.

Rating: PG-13, mild **Slash** (M/J)

Disclaimer: These shiny toys aren't mine. I'm just the magpie who borrowed them for a while.

AN: While you don't need to read Hourglass to follow this one-shot, I recommend reading it, because it details the hows and whys.

AN the second: This fic is dedicated to Redwinter101, in title and content, for inspiring me with her lovely fic, Body.

**Red**

Pressed against him, I felt small. His arms were tight and my throat tighter. He smelled good, but he smelled like nothing I had known before in my life.

I knew it was decay. I'd been giving the crash course and I knew the highlights: no heartbeat, sun hurts, decay, blood, silver, stakes. Freezers. Blood. God, but I was so thirsty.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore my hunger. It hurt, scorched me inside out like a swallow of red hot glass, but I needed to put it off for a little while longer.

The room was quiet, stagnant. I could hear the soft whooshing of air through open windows and the buzz of insects but most of all I could hear the silence.

I missed my heartbeat. Never thought I would, really. Most of the time I wasn't even aware of it, but now that my chest was quiet and my lungs still I yearned for that simple affirmation of life. All those little electrical impulses, gone. Just gone. I'd live forever but I wouldn't _live_.

_Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud._

My fingers tapped the rhythm out and I shifted closer to him.

"Beth's coming soon," he said, and ran fingers through my hair. Down my back, just his fingertips whispering along my skin. Sliding over my ribs. "You need to feed."

I shuddered and turned to face him, pressed my lips against his neck and my nails against his chest; felt the flesh give, just a little.

"We should get dressed," I said.

He held me even tighter. "No sense getting blood on clothes, Josh." He tilted his head back and held a hand against my nape.

"I… I can't," I said, but my lips brushed his neck with every word, and I felt myself change, let go. I distanced myself because even as I spoke, I knew I would do as he asked.

"You have to. If you want to see her, you have to."

"She shouldn't have to see me like-"

His fingers ripped against his soft throat so quickly I missed it. The sound of fingertips and nails against flesh, rending, tearing, broke through the quiet of the room. Mick's blood splashed against the cream couch and splashed against my lips and then I couldn't stop, couldn't help it, couldn't keep it in check, so I sunk my teeth in him, hard and quick like whiplash, and leaned over him and drank, and drank, and drank. I could hear the sucking sounds as I took his blood inside of me.

"God, Josh…" he said, a quiet gasp.

He held me to his chest, cool skin soothing, hands twined in my hair and caressing my back in long motions, over and over. Calming me.

I moved then, calm thrust aside, shook my head and tore his throat; his back arched and muscles tensed until he relaxed with a soft sigh. The wounds sealed and I struck again. Another rush of blood, slick and sweet and I swallowed it, licked it up, sucked at the drops along his chest until he was clean. Licked his skin again.

"That's enough, Josh. You're okay, you've taken plenty."

I wanted _more_.

He took my face in his hands and held me still as he licked bright streaks of his blood from me. I closed my eyes and let him do it, felt myself respond from a place beyond self-loathing. I swallowed, glass replaced with needles, but this time it wasn't from hunger.

"It's okay, Josh. We still have a little time until she gets here."

I nodded. Sleep swarmed over me like a flock of birds, all soft touches of feathers and sharp beaks.

"Beth," I whispered. An echo of his thoughts.

I felt him shift away and knew what he wanted to say, even through the thick silence of his home.

_Beth_, _I'm so sorry._

It wasn't really me who wanted to say it; it was him. Mick. He wanted to scream it. To cut it from his chest, to cut it from mine. He regretted turning me. But he couldn't say those words, wouldn't say them for me or even for her. Even if his blood churned with it.

Somewhere outside in the weak sunlight, a car slid to a halt and heels clicked against the pavement. We didn't move.

The silence continued, unending and thick and heavy on our tongues.


End file.
